


fraldarius’s shield

by bokutoma



Series: sylvix week 2019 [5]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 03:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21068048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokutoma/pseuds/bokutoma
Summary: perhaps felix had thought he’d be able to avoid marriage forever. instead, he is stuck with a man that looks at him like a conquest and a father-in-law that refuses to see him. forever sounds like a sickening notion, and he will do anything to rid himself of itenemies to friends to lovers // arranged marriage // tears





	fraldarius’s shield

If there’s anything to be said about him, it’s that Felix Hugo Fraldarius doesn’t like people.

This is, of course, a massive understatement. He’s scared off more suitors than anyone could possibly imagine with his razor wit and dexterous sword work, and at some point, the most weak-willed of the bunch had been thwarted by reputation alone.

Really, Ingrid Galatea would be the only choice not completely put off by him, but between Glenn, who she had genuinely loved, and the little matter of their lack of compatibility, it’s not as though Count Galatea would be approving that match anytime soon.

It’s just as well, really. Felix isn’t interested in girls anyway.

Sometimes, he wonders if Rodrigue would be so welcoming of the fact that he’s trans if his interest laid with women. Then he remembers that his father barely even recalls who he is sometimes, and figures he’s got worse problems to deal with.

The point, though, is that Felix Hugo Fraldarius doesn’t like people. Not hate, per se, but dislike.

He _hates_ Sylvain Jose Gautier.

He’s never met the bastard, but somehow, this stupid asshole has decided he wouldn’t mind being engaged to Felix. He might have given the whole thing a shot, but he’d heard many a rumor about the heir to Gautier territory, about his womanizing ways. Rumors of that magnitude (the ones that stick to their story, anyway) tend to be true, and either way, Ingrid has all but confirmed them.

If Sylvain Jose Gautier is expecting a woman, he’s got another thing coming.

* * *

The Gautier heir is, unfortunately, far more attractive than a lech has any right to be, but then perhaps his title is not the only thing that attracts the horde.

This is, of course, another reason to loathe him.

Privately, he wishes for Ingrid’s company, or even Dimitri, beast that he is. Anyone that he could snark to, confide in when he’s ready to punch this brat’s teeth in. There’s no one like that in Fraldarius territory, though, so he contents himself with glaring from where he waits, poised to receive the traveling party.

When their gazes meet, he wants desperately to see a look of surprise, disgust, anything at all to prove that this Sylvain is a fucking bigoted idiot who doesn’t know what he’s gotten into. Call him masochistic, but at least he’d have fun pushing Sylvain’s buttons until the elder called off their engagement.

Instead, the look on his face is coy, almost delighted. Either Ingrid neglected to mention the bastard had an interest in men, or he’s even more stupid than Felix had originally thought

Sylvain has the audacity to wink.

Stupid it is, then.

Margrave Gautier steps forward, every inch the noble prick Felix had been expecting. “Presenting my son, Sylvain Jose Gautier, to his wife-to-be.”

Cold rage suffuses Felix, but his voice remains perfectly level but for the bite to his tone. “_Wife_? You must have the wrong place. There are no women in the Fraldarius household,”

Rodrigue shoots him a chastising look, but he nods in agreement. “My son is correct, and it would please me greatly if you’d address him as such.”

Margrave Gautier raises his eyebrow contemptuously, but before he can say anything else that would explain why Sylvain is apparently such a colossal prat, the man himself steps forward.

“I, for one, am thrilled to have such a handsome husband in my future,” he says, each word oil-slick. At least he has enough manners to address him properly, unlike his father.

Felix is supposed to say something in kind, he knows, but frankly, he can’t be bothered. Silence hangs thick in the air for a moment as he aims all his condescending fury at the margrave, but Rodrigue is used to covering for his son’s failings when it comes to manners.

“We should let them get to know each other,” he says companionably to the elder Gautier. “I’m sure you recall how eager you were to be alone when your courtship started.”

That breaks the ice somewhat, and the margrave’s (stupid, ugly, worthless) face relaxes into a jovial smile. “Of course, old friend Let us retire to your parlor. I have a few good stories of the Sreng I’ve been saving for you.”

They make to leave, and Felix does as well, though every fiber of his being longs to go train. He has never felt better than with a blade in hand, and though his fiancé looks strong - delightfully strong, his mind unhelpfully supplies - he probably would not agree.

“Where to now, dearest?” Sylvain says, and more than anything, it’s these words that prove how woefully unsuited to the task of loving Felix he is. Nothing is soft for him.

“Preferably me to my room and you out of here,” he grumbles, but there’s only so much he can get away with, and so he leads Sylvain to the tea room.

“Awfully romantic for someone you want to leave.”

Hopefully, the sheer force of Felix’s glare disabuses Sylvain of these wild notions.

“The usual, if you would,” he says to the servant standing at attention when they walk in. He draws a wooden chair out, heedless of the way it scrapes against stone, and sits, propriety he damned.

Sylvain has only just dropped into his seat when Felix speaks.

“If you came here expecting a woman,” he says, every word a thorn he’s projectile vomiting from the depths of his soul. “You are not only going to leave disappointed, but with your chances of producing an heir dropped to zero.”

Sylvain sends him a smile so blindingly white it should be disarming; Felix is used to tricks like this, and all it does is set him off further. “Nothing less than what I’d expect from the famous Felix Fraldarius.”

It’s bait, and the both of them know it. For once, Felix doesn’t rise to it.

Despite all appearances, Sylvain isn’t foolish enough to ignore what that means. “I knew what I was getting into. Regardless of what my father says, you’ve always been a man to me.”

“I didn’t.” Abruptly, he slams his chair backward, ignoring the heavy scent of Almyran Pine Needle tea as it hangs in the air just a second before the servant enters. There’s no trace in Sylvain’s face of dishonesty; all that means is that it will sting worse when the fall comes.

“What?”

“Didn’t know what I was getting into. Didn’t have a choice.”

When he leaves, Felix doesn’t bother with Sylvain’s reaction. It doesn’t matter either way.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @kingblaiddyd for incredibly stupid sylvain thirst tweets


End file.
